


Marvel Potpourri

by ravenously



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The First Avenger, Gen, M/M, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:01:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2297492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenously/pseuds/ravenously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of mostly prompt-based Marvel works. Some are drabbles, some are longer. Mostly Steve/Bucky, a mix of every pairing, likely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brontide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In response to the prompt "Steve/Bucky, Brontide."
> 
> Brontide: a low muffled sound like distant thunder heard in certain seismic regions especially along seacoasts and over lakes and thought to be caused by feeble earth tremors.

When the war starts, there is the thought in the back of Steve’s head that oh, no, the world is changing. People are being shipped off and sent to save the goddamn Western World, soldiers and nurses with stronger jaws and arms than him. Actually doing important stuff, actually being strong.

And then there’s Steve, who got laid off on another job for being sick too many days in a row, relying on Bucky’s income and kindness to help him through pneumonia. Steve who can’t do anything, is too weak and too stubborn to accomplish a positive deed.

It’s when he’s coughing up phlegm and trying to feel Bucky’s large hand comfortingly on his back that his head takes a spin down. His fever gets so bad, that he’s laid up in bed for days, delirious and hearing the distant thunder.

He isn’t sure if it’s the marching of boots on Japanese borders, or the oncoming earthquake.

—

When Bucky gets drafted, he doesn’t move from his place on the fireplace for hours, smoking cigarette after cigarette and watching the red-ember butts fall carelessly down to the street below, watching them snuff out in the night.

He can’t leave Steve. It’ll break the punk apart, will leave him alone. It’ll just confirm to Steve his biggest fears- that everyone in his life will leave him. And Bucky, Bucky can’t just do that. Can’t leave his punk to the earth and ashes without him by his side, forever.

The war isn’t brought up by Bucky ever again. In fact, if Steve didn’t talk about it, the kid wouldn’t know any of Bucky’s thoughts on it or his drafting. Other than the hours of smoking on the balcony, he never says a word about his feelings on it. Skirts around the issue even when Steve’s face is red from ranting, blue from apprehension. 

Every word Steve says about the war is like a distant siren, is the drumming of the earth’s waves reaching up to swallow Bucky whole. He listens as Steve talks about having a purpose in this world, watches as Steve tries to sign up, and he wonders, he does, if fate has set to push a seismic crack between him and his punk. 

When he hugs Steve for the last time, the hug feels like the last groan before the world splits apart.

—

When Steve finds Bucky strapped to a table and muttering incoherancies, his breathless sighs of relief are the wind variations before a storm. 

Each step back to the camp is a dull vibration of hope, hope that the world will hold off her world-weary sigh and settle the vibrations. 

Bucky smiles at Steve and Steve smiles right back, a hand on each shoulder and an idle hand trailing down a uniform, and maybe, maybe the plate shift has righted itself, maybe the world is safe from destruction again.

—

There’s a dull noise of distant thunder as they move through the train, and Bucky can’t shake it off, can’t help the pit of his stomach to feel hard and hopeless.

When he falls, Steve’s look of blank fear and desperation open the yawning of the earth. Steve’s outstretched hand is the crack of the earth, the shift of the plates, and Bucky is helpless to his calls.

It’s been an earthquake brewing for years in the softest of moments, in the subtlest of hints, and the distant thunder isn’t so distant anymore, is directly in his ear (is that just the wind as he rushes low to the ground?) roaring and hollering and all-encompassing. 

The earth opens up and swallows him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please come find me on [Tumblr](http://ravenouscorax.tumblr.com/) and send me prompts.


	2. I'm Not Paranoid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In response to the prompt "Stucky 'I'm not paranoid.'

Steve wakes up to Bucky sitting in the corner of the room, in the armchair, looking as alert as ever. Well, except for the exhaustion pouring out of every pore in his body. 

"Did you sleep, Buck?"

"…No." 

Steve sighs, sits up slowly and blinks over at the silhouette, frowning at his tense muscles and flickering gaze. “Why?”

"Gotta keep watch." The response is immediate, is almost programmed, and Steve doesn’t want to ask. He really, really doesn’t, but he really really needs Bucky to get some sleep. Preferably in his arms. 

"From what? You’re safe here." He says it softly, doesn’t wanna spook Bucky as he slowly gets up from the bed and walks closer to the scraggly man. "You’re being paranoid."

"I’m not being paranoid!" Bucky growls, glaring at Steve with so much vehemence, it makes the Captain stand back. Bucky sighs, blinks and calms himself, says in a softer voice, "It’s- It’s protocol." He flicks his gaze from the door to Steve. At Steve’s questioning glance, he continues, "The commander wanted to keep watch. It-"

"You don’t need ‘protocol’ anymore. You don’t have to do the things they told you to."

"But-"

"No buts. Come to bed. You’re tired, I can see it."

"Steve, I-"

"Nnnnno. Shh. C’mon." He tugs on Bucky’s hair lightly and the man blinks before getting up behind him, going with Steve’s movements automatically, obeying immediately.

It’s not perfect, and Steve knows that the only reason he’s able to spoon Bucky and wrap his arms around him so comfortably is because Bucky’s listening to orders and thinks Steve’s his CO, but. But it’s a start, and he can feel Bucky’s breath even out, can tell when his muscles relax that he actually sleeps, let’s Steve take guard for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please come find me on [Tumblr](http://ravenouscorax.tumblr.com/) and send me prompts.


	3. Eager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt "Clint/Natasha 'Maybe it would be better if we stopped.'"

"Maybe it would be better if we just stopped." Natasha stops giggling long enough to look down at Clint, draped so prettily between her legs and mouth a mess, confusion clouding her face for a moment. 

"Why? I’m certainly having a good time." She purrs, raking a nail down the length of Clint’s nose, causing the blond man to blink furiously and have to consciously think about not leaning into that touch. 

"Okay, so you’re having a good time. But me, on the other hand, am not. Why, Nat? Why? Because you’re laughing at me. That wound’s a man’s pride, and also makes me feel, y’know, bad that I can’t get you off.” He huffs and sits back, wiping at his wet chin and grimacing and really, really, Natasha can’t help but feel bad for the doting man. 

He’s trying so, so hard, too. 

"So you want to… Stop?"

"Well, yeah, if this is gonna go nowhere. Don’t wanna make this disappointing." He practically pouts, and Natasha takes mercy on him. After all, it’s not his fault he’s ridiculously bad at eating a girl out. 

"Here, you wanna make it good, first you gotta stop pretending that I have a cock and realize that it is, in fact, a vagina, and you need to react accordingly.” Natasha starts explaining, slowly pushing Clint’s head back down, nails raking against the back of his head as she explains the proper way to get a lady off. 

And Clint, the poor boy, is so so eager to please Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please come find me on [Tumblr](http://ravenouscorax.tumblr.com/) and send me prompts.


	4. A Dip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me and my friend Jack have an AU in which Bucky is merfolk. It's entirely fleshed out, but we've never written it out in long-form except in drabbles like this.

It’s summer. Hot and sweltering and Steve’s sweating and hunched over himself by the time he gets to the beach. His skin is flushed red and his hair sticks to his forehead in unattractive limp curls.

He all but collapses on the rock outcropping overlooking the small cove, breathing heavily and holding onto his chest, gauging for an attack.

"D’ja already take a dip without me?"

A head pops up from the ocean water, dripping wet and practically oozing happiness. His ear fins flutter to get rid of the excess water dribbling down, a constant battle between the happy perkiness to them and the random twitches.  
Steve huffs out a final steadying breath, giving a soft little wave to the boy in the water. “It’s just hot. Overheatin’.”

Bucky gives a wide grin, moving closer to the rock outcropping and propping up his arms, and Steve idly smooths down the arm spines, smiling right back. “Maybe you should cool off, then.”

Steve gives him another look that devolves into surprised shrieking when Bucky flicks his tail above the water, splashing Steve with a torrent of ocean spray. He almost falls over on the rock, steadying himself last second. He glares at the merman, merboy really, crossing his arms over his chest. “Bucky, what’d your mother tell you ‘bout being a rude jerk?”

“You were hot. I alleviated the symptoms. ” The pronunciation is a little garbled, but Steve gets it anyways, kicking out a tiny foot at Bucky’s chest. Already, Bucky is growing broader and taller while Steve stays tiny and a pipsqueek.

“‘S still rude.” Steve splays out his toes and, with a smirk, pushes hard as he can, catching Bucky unawares as he tumbles back into the water, giving a surprised grunt. Steve smirks when he comes back up, raising a thin eyebrow at him.

“Yer a fucking punk.” Bucky growls as soon as he clears the water from his gills, making a wet slapping sound as they stick to his neck and open up his lungs and airways. He coughs a few times, water dribbling from his mouth.

It’s probably uncomfortable.

Serves him right.

Steve does a mock gape at the language, placing long fingers over his heart like he’s a shocked dame. “My my, Bucky, what would the ladies think of that language?”

Bucky sniffs, wrinkling his nose up. “Don’t care about that right now, y’bastard.” Obviously, someone’s been picking up language at the docks again, ‘Cause no way in hell does Steve speak like that.

“Oh yeah? What do ya care for, then?” Testing always testing.

Bucky leans forward again, propelling himself up the rock and throwing his tail over Steve’s lap, giving him a quick kiss. “Whatever the fick you are, with your two tails and silly ears.” Another kiss, and another and, well, that’s that day we’ll spent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please come find me on [Tumblr](http://ravenouscorax.tumblr.com/) and send me prompts.


	5. V

“I don’t deserve you.” The ghost whispers in Russian, face pressed against the back of your neck, breathing stuttering and hands twitching in restrained emotion.

"What’s that mean?" You ask him back, twisting your head so you can see those bright, wide blue eyes, brighter than any crystal. You may have been brushing up on your Russian, but it’s still so bad, especially when it’s mumbled and fast.

He’s silent for a moment, before he’s climbing around you, straddling your lap and pressing his nose to yours, looking at you seriously, so seriously. “It means I love you.”

It’s a repeated saying, the mumbling of Russian words followed by what you’re certain isn’t actually a declaration of love, but for Bucky, maybe it is. You ask Natasha about it, clumsily stumbling over the pronunciation and rhythm, and she gives a humorless smirk, a half shouldered shrug.

"It means he loves you, Rogers. Say this back to him." She says a small string of the language, repeating it happily so that you will be able to say it.

The next time Bucky mumbles so heartedly, "I don’t deserve you,” you just smile at him, pull him around to your front and repeat the words, the reply, and watch as his eyes widen, his lips tremble.

"You’ve always deserved me. End of the line, remember?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, come find me on [Tumblr.](http://ravenouscorax.tumblr.com)


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: "i just imagined pierce as cult master with all of the hydra members dressed in cultist robes as their new uniform. looking good there rumlow."
> 
> This is so old I forgot about it. !

"I can’t fucking move in these goddamned robes.” Rumlow complains loudly, awkwardly clicking in a gun to the side holster, having to maneuver his hands under the robes to even begin to try. There’s blood splattered on the hem of the garment, but he ignores is, tries to push the sleeves up to his forearms and failing, considering the cut is similar to the wide-sleeved gowns he remembers graduating in, for god’s sake.

"Pipe it down, Rumlow, and just do your job." One of the other higher Hydra cells complains, hopping into the back seat of the prepared van, almost tripping on the length and ungainliness of the cloth that’s wrapped around him.

"Gah. Fuck off." He spits, coming in behind the other man and settling on one of the metal seats with a well-deserved sigh. "How’s it doing in these things?”

Both men glance to the corner of the van, where the Asset is currently huddled, having been told to sit and stay, good dog by Rumlow a while ago. Surprisingly, he’s huddled in the robes and has a look of content on his face and he snuggles up to the cloth, knees drawn up tight so the dark material forms a tent around his body, his arms out of the sleeves and under the main portion of the robe, too.

His weapons have been discarded and dropped to the floor, eye paint smudged all over his face and hair wild and skew, but the Soldier appears content and calm, rather than dead and vacant. 

"Soldier!" Rumlow barks, and the Asset slits his eyes open, straightens a bit, but doesn’t get out of his ridiculous position, instead seeming to huddle in the cloth even more.

"Yes, sir?" He asks, voice dull and absent and obedient as usual, not a hint out of place that anything’s wrong.

"Mission report?"

"Confirmed kill. One bullet to the brain for the female, two bullets- one head, one chest- to the male." As huddled and innocent-looking as the Soldier appears now, the words sound even more macabre than usual, the stiff, jerky speech something unnatural.

Rumlow stares at him for a moment and the Asset stares dully back, blue eyes slitted. “Well, what the fuck are you doing?”

The Soldier looks confused for a moment, several expressions passing quickly along his face, before he settles on a vague smile, stiff and forced as though he’d merely emanating those around him. He probably is. “I’m warm.”

There’s no other explanation that’s forthcoming, and Rumlow honestly doesn’t care at this point, so long as the Asset isn’t malfunctioning, so he leaves it be, letting the insane little devil do as he pleases. About halfway through the ride, the Soldier lifts the hood up and buries his head in it, dropping his face to his knees so that’s he’s nothing but a mass of huddled black cloth perched on the corner seat like a bird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, come find me on [Tumblr.](http://ravenouscorax.tumblr.com)


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt: The Winter Soldier doesn't recover almost any memories, though he understands Hydra seriously fucked him over. Steve's a very familiar stranger that the WS would like to befriend but he's pretty sure he doesn't have a shot in hell cuz he can't remember being his friend

He pretends for Steve’s sake.

He knows that he should know him, but he doesn’t not really. Any memories before Hydra are locked, locked tight away and Bucky thinks that perhaps they didn’t just throw away the key, but burned away all traces of the treasure map.

Cauterize the resulting wound and you have one very confused, angry man.

Steve tries to get him to remember. Tells him ‘Don’t worry about it, there’s no pressure, you’ll remember with time,’ but Bucky knows that that faded light in his eyes every time he fails to pick something up that he should, is disappointment, plain and simple. 

When that disappointment turns to pain and anguish, Bucky realizes that Steve is only putting up with him because he expects his friend to come back. He’s- He’s not Steve’s friend.

How can he when the memories that made him Steve’s are long gone, turned to dust by years of Soviet electricity coursing through his mental capacities?

The more he sticks around Steve, the more Bucky realizes he’s the opposite of that. The opposite of Bucky. And how dare he, how dare he attempt to recreate the life of the comrade Steve lost seventy years ago to war and winter.

But he has nothing else to do.

Nowhere to go, no one that feels as familiar as Steve. He might not remember, but Steve still feels comfortable and warm like Bucky isn’t. It’s a relief and he wants to keep that. 

So he pretends. He pretends to remember how to be Bucky Barnes, and he pours himself over his biographies. He makes careful not to speak a word of Russian, and to smooth over his slight Moscow slur, the one that peeks out whenever he gets agitated. He makes sure not to talk extensively on the ways to kill a man, even if the TV show him and Steve are watching are getting it laughably wrong. 

And Steve gets that look of pain less often. Sure, he screws up, and sure in reality he is not James Barnes, but Steve looks happier and that’s all that matters. 

Steve, as it is, is the only thing in the world that matters to the Soldier. There’s no missions or handlers or masters or electricity anymore, only Steve and his kind smile and expectations that he doesn’t even know he has. 

The Soldier does nothing but pretend for him, but it’s good. Steve is happy and bumps their shoulders, and the Soldier pretends not to flinch. He hugs him and the Soldier remembers to hug back because that’s what James Barnes would do. 

And most of all, when Steve kisses him, he pretends to know what he’s doing, pretends they’ve been doing this since he was born, pretends pretends pretends. 

Maybe Steve knows that he’s not James Barnes, not really. Maybe he’s pretending too. Ignoring the elephant in the room and pretending that they’re normal, that the Soldier is normal. It’s some elaborate play, a ballet like the one his master took him to once. 

And like all plays and ballets and movies, he knows the shoe of the climax has to drop soon, but for now, for now he can pretend.

After all, he’s an empty husk of life. Maybe all this pretending will eventually fill him up with the real James Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come pester me and send me prompts and shit on [Tumblr!](http://ravenouscorax.tumblr.com/)


	8. Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bucky turning Steve in the post-apocalyptic Vampire AU.

The act itself is uneventful, as most extraordinary things tend to be. The even is boring, even, just the spreading of a palm across a lower lip, a metal hand snapping his mouth closed with finality.

It’s the meaning of the act that’s important. The edges of the sunset are still prickling at the back of Bucky’s neck, a mild discomfort, but he completely ignores it in favor of watching Steve, watching his still chest and still body. 

The last fingers of sunset will be gone by the time Steve is up and at ‘em, before any harm can be done to what will be new, fragile sensitivity. 

Bucky’s like a German Alp, sit snug on Steve’s chest and probably constricting his airflow entirely, but it doesn’t matter, not anymore. Oh, he watches as Steve sucks in a sudden breath and frantically starts breathing as his body reanimates, but his body doesn’t need to do that anymore. It’s leftover instinct. Human innateness left over. 

Unlike an Alp, though, he’s not sending Steve bad dreams. No, he’s grasping for the small tendrils of Seve’s mind, falling into short waves of mineminemine. Steve’s his now. 

Steve will be out like a light for a few hours as his body changes, as his entire physiology changes paths and new neural pathways open up, conjuring up new instincts, and getting rid of many of the human ones. Oh, sure, he’ll still be like a human, habits die hard, but that’s about it.

Bucky eventually moves from Steve’s chest to sit beside him and pull Steve’s limp body onto his lap, stroking through his hair. He doesn’t remember much, still, but he knows that Steve is his. Hydra kept what was his away from him, and that, more than anything, tells him to do away with them completely. 

He doesn’t know if he would have turned him if the blood disease wasn’t so rampant. But they didn’t know if Steve was immune, didn’t know if he’d be one of the survivors or if it would ravage his system and kill him in days, like the others. 

Bucky’s practically giddy when, about fourty five minutes after turning him, he lifts up Steve’s lips to look at his teeth, sees the gorgeous canines elongated and perfect. Watches Steve’s eyes flutter open and focus as much as they can on him, utter devotion in his gaze. 

It’s perfect. He strokes through his hair, presses soft kisses to his cheeks and forehead. Steve won’t die on him now, and is more his than ever before, and it’s wonderful. 

Bucky sits there and strokes Steve through the Turn the entire night, and he’s so, so pleased to see Steve stumbling behind him when he tells him it’s time to go, time to find shelter for the coming sun.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please come find me on [Tumblr](http://ravenouscorax.tumblr.com/) and send me prompts.


End file.
